The Lonely Road of a Fisher's Wife
by poetintraining576
Summary: Four years ago, when Krista married Matthew, she never dreamed she'd be penniless and living in her sister's apartment. Or that Matthew would be stupid enough to buy a cottage on the coast of Scotland. A modern and elongated re-telling of the Grimm fairy tale "The Fisherman and His Wife."
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello, all my lovely readers! I recently decided to create a novella-length story that modernizes the Grimm brothers' fairy tale "The Fisherman and His Wife." The tale is quite short, so if you're not familiar with it, I'd recommend reading it (or at least a plot synopsis) since I play with the events and characterization of the original tale quite a bit._

_I know it's mostly exposition, but if you like the first chapter, please leave me a review! Oh, and enjoy the story!_

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**The Fisherman and His Wife**

I

It was a Wednesday in early December when Krista had her first-ever panic attack. She had known that money was tight-she'd taken that second job waitressing, after all-but when the landlord came that Wednesday afternoon, and after scrounging about the flat all she could find was five pounds for the rent, she could only blink at the empty coffee can sitting on the dingy kitchen counter.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Larsen," she said at last, as she returned to the small foyer. "It appears we're a bit short on money at the moment. If you could just give us a week's extension..."

Mr. Larsen looked sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Banks, but you're already a month behind on payments, and in this economy, we're all suffering. I have my youngest at Oxford now, and I rely on the income from all my properties." He turned from the door. "I'll give you 48 hours to gather your things and move out. Please give my regards to your husband."

Krista stared at the door for five long minutes as the rate of her breathing quickened. She stumbled toward the couch as her vision began to go. It wasn't fair! First she'd had the miscarriage and the scarring and the medical bills, and then Matthew had had his accident, leaving him with partial paralysis on the right side of his body. And those medical bills had caused her to get the second job. And then, of course, she couldn't forget that Matthew's unemployment checks had stopped coming, and they were still in debt, so she'd started smoking, and he'd started drinking. They were good, decent people, and now they were homeless. Krista rushed to the loo and heaved. It wasn't fair.

Matthew came home late that night, a whiskey bottle in his hand and a sour expression on his face. "I didn't get the job," he growled, as he pulled his tie from his neck, sloshing a bit of whiskey on himself. "Apparently, an accountant needs to have full use of _both_ of his hands."

Krista nodded numbly, taking the whiskey bottle and setting it on the counter before helping him with his jacket. He groaned as she pulled it from his right arm, then settled down in the moldy armchair. She fetched him his whiskey and hung up his stained suit coat and tie. "There's always tomorrow," she said, with an empty smile.

OOO

Krista knew she needed to tell him. They were down to 36 hours, and neither one of them had begun packing anything. She kissed him goodbye as she left for work, but he didn't look up, still staring at the telly. Frustrated, Krista slammed the door behind her and stomped all the way to the inn down the street where she worked as a maid.

It was a slow day, and tipping was bad. At this rate, she wouldn't even be able to purchase a pack of fags. Using the keycard to enter another room, Krista pulled the sheets from the bed and began picking up the towels strewn all over the bathroom floor. She and Matthew had once been these people, when they had first gotten married. They had stayed at the Regency in the States for their honeymoon, and on their first anniversary, they had gone to Dublin for a week. Now they couldn't even afford to leave their grimy bit of London.

Krista held the dirtied towels in her hands and glanced up into the mirror. Even through the streaks of dirt, she could see her limp ashy blonde hair falling from its ponytail, and her dull blue eyes staring listlessly at her reflection.

"You look like a corpse," she murmured to her reflection before turning from the mirror. When she returned to use the glass cleaner, she kept her head down, her eyes averted from the horror she had become. It was a good thing they had sold her mother's Victorian mirror long ago.

OOO

That night as Krista had dinner with Matthew, the two of them sitting at the plastic card table eating some fishy stew, she put her down her spoon and stared at her husband. He didn't notice, only continued eating. "Matthew," she said, after a minute, "the landlord came yesterday to collect our rent."

"Well," he said, still not looking up from his stew, "did you tell him we'd have it in a week?"

"I did. And he said that we're already a month behind in our payments."

At last Matthew finally looked up, his brown hair falling into his sharp grey eyes. "So?"

"He gave us forty-eight hours to pack our things and leave the flat. We now have twenty-four." In her hands, Krista twisted the paper napkin until she could feel it forming a tight cord. And still, she continued twisting. "I still have my jobs, and we can find a cheaper place to rent in a month or so... and I can give up smoking. I couldn't buy my fags today anyway, so I might as well start fresh."

Matthew just stared at her. "We're being thrown out of our home? Just like that? Does Mr. Larsen have no mercy?"

"We are a month late on the payments," Krista said, the napkin in her lap now still. "He's let us stay here a month purely out of charity."

Matthew stood up and slammed his fist to the table, causing his bowl to fly off and break. Krista winced.

"Why didn't you fight for us, Krista?" he hissed. "Why do you always accept things the way they are?"

"There was nothing I could do!" she cried, standing up as well, and taking her bowl to the sink. She began sweeping up the bits of china that Matthew had broken, and picked up the slightly dented spoon. "Why fight when you know you're going to lose?"

"Oh, so I shouldn't apply for any more jobs, because I'm always going to lose, like I have for the past year? Is that what you're saying?"

Krista pursed her lips. "You're twisting my words. I never said that."

"But you're thinking it, and that's all the same, isn't it, Krista?"

She took a deep breath before glaring at her husband. "I'm going to bed. You can sleep on the couch."

And slamming the door behind her, she sat on the edge of their bed and cried.

OOO

The next day was sorer than the last. Krista woke early, and after locating a tattered carpetbag in the closet, she stuffed all her clothes into it. She grabbed her decade-old curling iron, her shoes, her few pieces of jewelry, and anything else that would fit, including the few books from the mantle: _Oliver Twist, Great Expectations, _and _A Christmas Carol_. The china and the silverware and the linens she packed separately. She would be paid today, so they would have just enough to take a cab to her sister's place on the other side of London. Even with their two children, they had an extra bedroom, and as much as Krista hated relying on people's charity, it was their only option.

After work that day, Krista returned to the apartment, gathered up everything that she had packed, and surveyed the apartment. Matthew was already downstairs with his own suitcase waiting for her. She had managed to convince Mr. Larsen to buy some of the furniture from her (the bed and the television, though small, were still in good condition), so she and Matthew now had 200 pounds to their name, so they might be able to afford a first month's rent of a small studio flat. Then, shutting off the lights, she locked the door behind her and slipped both copies of the key underneath Mr. Larsen's door. Krista walked out of the building and met Matthew on the sidewalk, the money and her over-filled carpetbag clutched tightly against her chest.

"Where to now?" Matthew said dully, staring at the dark, empty street in front of them.

"To my sister's. Oh, don't look at me that way, Mattie, you know it's the only place we can go. I called her this morning before work, and she agreed to let us stay with them for a couple of days until we can find a new place to rent... it's only temporary."

"Are you even listening to yourself, Krista?" Matthew asked. "We don't have the bloody money to rent a place. That was the problem we _just _ran into. And everything is pricier over by where your sister lives."

"Well, then what's _your _brilliant plan, then? Wash away our troubles with a bit of liquor?" Krista stretched up her arm to hail a cab, but it passed them, zooming along the street. She let out a groan of frustration and shivered, clutching her coat more tightly around her.

"Well, it's better than smoking them to death," he bit back acidly. "If we could just get enough money to buy a small cottage on the Channel..."

"Do you know how much ocean-front property costs, Matthew? We would have to scrimp and save for _years_ just to afford a small flat out there."

Matthew sighed in annoyance, throwing his hands up. "I give up, Krista. I give up on you; I give up on this marriage; I give up on trying to care anymore."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "We've come through far worse." Another cab passed them, and this time, when Krista waved her hand, it slowed down and stopped in front of their building. They slid in the back, gave the driver directions, and remained silent for the duration of the trip.

When they finally reached the West End, Krista paid the driver twenty pounds and grabbed her things without waiting for Matthew. Her sister was standing on the stoop, wearing a housecoat and terrycloth slippers. She had a tired smile on her face, but greeted her sister warmly. "It's good to see you, Krista," she said, hugging the younger woman. "I am sorry it's under these circumstances, though."

"Me too, Alicia," Krista whispered. "I promise we'll be out of your hair in a few days. Mattie and I will figure something out by the end of the week."

"Nonsense," Alicia said, grabbing Krista's carpetbag. "Stay as long as you like."

OOO

They ended up staying two months at the flat that Alicia shared with her family. Krista spent much of her free time with her niece and nephew, but Matthew kept to himself, watching the telly or going out for the occasional interview. And every day, Krista walked two miles and took four buses to get to her jobs, and walked two miles and took four buses every night, come snow or rain. But she hid the money from Matthew, in the space she had holed out in Dickens' _Great Expectations_, and she didn't purchase any fags. Renting their own flat was far more important.

She woke up that day two months after they had arrived, intending to put down the deposit for a flat. She'd found a place that was in their immediate budget, and Alicia and her husband had generously offered to help them out for the first few months. But that evening, when she checked the little cubby in her book, it was empty. "Matthew," she muttered, slamming the cover. She paced the room, trying not to scream. No doubt he was doing something stupid, squirreling away the money she had saved, that she had earned, either drinking or playing cards. Or both.

Krista sat that way, on the edge of their bed, her back rigid, until Matthew came home. She immediately smelled liquor on his breath, and he was hooting with glee. She counted to ten and then opened her eyes, glaring at him.

"You took our money, the money I earned, mind you, and you spent it! I was going to put a deposit for a flat today, but I couldn't do that, thanks to you! Alicia and Edward even offered to help us pay the rent for the first few months so that we could get on our feet! And you just threw that away!"

Matthew looked just as angry now, and he leaned against the wall and pulled out a number of bills. Two hundred, three hundred, four hundred pounds in addition to the three hundred she'd already saved. "Where on earth did you get that?" she asked quietly.

"I won it off some blokes," he said. "I had a lucky hand of poker tonight, and I even won this." He held up a key, and pulled a thick piece of paper out of his pocket, tossing that onto the bed. "It's for a small cottage on the coast of Scotland. It was a vacation property for one of the gits, but his family hasn't gone up there in years. We own our own place, Krista, can you believe it?"

"Well," she said, "we'll have to sell it. Our lives are here."

"No, _your_ life is here. Your jobs are here, but what do I have? Nothing, that's what. Do you ever even stop to ask me what I want? You found this new apartment without even talking to me about it."

Krista threw her hands in the air. "Honestly, Matthew, I didn't think you'd be interested. The only thing you're ever interested in lately is watching the telly and getting snockered."

"Because there's nothing _useful _I can do!" he shouted, pounding his fist against the wall. "If I could do something useful with my time, I wouldn't drink, and I wouldn't watch the telly all day."

Biting her tongue, Krista took a deep breath. "All right," she said. "What do you want to do?"

"I want to keep the blasted cottage," Matthew said. "At least there maybe I can do something useful... maybe become a fisherman or something."

Krista raised an eyebrow. "Do you even know how to fish? And if we keep the cottage, what do you expect me to do? Quit my jobs?"

"Why not?" he asked. "You don't fancy 'em much, do you? Besides, you can work as a maid anywhere, can't you?

With a loud sigh, she closed her eyes. "I suppose." She looked at him, noticing his stormy grey eyes. "And this will make you happy?"

He looked at her straight-on, without blinking. "Yes," he said quietly, "it will."

Krista stood there, silent. She stared at the floor where a bit of the oak had been scratched. "All right, then, Mattie. Let's start over. It'll be like when we first married. You and me, no distractions, no worries about rent. Just us."

When she looked up, she saw a boyish grin on her husband's face, and she watched as he crossed the room and slipped his arms around her waist. Krista swallowed.

"That sounds perfect," he whispered as he leaned into her. And he kissed her.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I'm back! Here we get into the fairytale's original plot a bit, so I hope it's a bit more interesting for everyone. The way I'm pacing this so far, I'm imagining this will probably be around 5-6 chapters total. It might be too long for a novella, but it won't be a novel of epic proportions._

_So, sit back, read and enjoy. Oh, and if you like what you see, please review! If you have constructive feedback, please review! I don't know how to improve the story if I don't hear from my readers, so pretty pretty please take two minutes to sign in, review, and submit. Thanks!_

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II

The next few weeks passed in a flurry of activity, and during that time, neither Krista nor Matthew breathed a word about the kiss. Krista imagined that Matthew had been too drunk to remember it, and as they were now on better terms, she saw no reason to discuss it. They were, after all, a married couple, despite their lack of physical intimacy in the past several months. Besides, with the business of moving to the Scottish cottage, Krista soon forgot about the kiss entirely.

They packed up their few belongings, Krista gave her two weeks' notice, and before she could blink, they were riding in a cab across England, into Scotland toward their cottage on the east coast, located between Arbroath and Montrose. It was a shabby little thing, its paint weathered grey from the salty spray, and its roof caving in on one side. Nonetheless, Matthew clapped Krista on the back, paid the cab driver, and after grabbing their few possessions, steered her into their new home.

If the outside had been charming, the inside was frightful. The floor was made of creaky old wood with spots of rotting, the whitewash was peeling from the walls, and the whole place smelled of mothballs. Add to that the watercloset, which was an outdoor lavatory, and the bedroom, with its full-size bed and its broken door, and Krista wanted to cry. At least the electricity worked (though the lights flickered), and the kitchen appliances appeared functional. But to think, they could have had a nice two-bedroom flat!

"Well, it's not much, but it's ours," Matthew said, a gleam of pride in his voice. "It's all ours. And I was told there was a garden out back, Kristy. Let's go see." Tugging at her wrist, he led her out the door and around to the back of the shack. There she saw some hard, light brown soil and a few dead vines underneath the crust of frost.

"How lovely," muttered Krista. Matthew smiled at her, and so she quelled the anger she could feel rising in her chest. She cleared her throat. "How much do we have to pay for utilities out here?"

Matthew shrugged. "Dunno. I didn't ask the bloke when I won the place. It can't be much, though, can it?"

Snorting, Krista folded her arms and walked back into the house.

OOO

As spring approached, Krista and Matthew settled into their new life. With their remaining funds, he bought fishing equipment, and she bought a hoe, a rake, and several packages of seeds. It was challenging work, turning the spot behind the shack into a garden, but it got Krista out of the decrepit place at the very least. Outside, she could pretend that things were better, even though the fruits of her labor were dirty, calloused hands and a few small green sprouts.

Meanwhile, Matthew spent his days fishing. He wasn't very good at it, only catching a couple fish a week, so Krista began looking for nearby work. She did her neighbors' washing and cleaning, and a local tavern hired her as a barmaid. It was a dingy place with several drunk men hitting on her every night, but it helped them pay for their groceries and electricity. There was even a little left over, so Krista began storing her earnings in her bra, a place where Matthew would never find them, vowing to fix the massive leak in the roof. Or add on a true bathroom. Or fix the bedroom door. These dreams kept her sane.

One day, Matthew returned home, empty-handed. Krista was sitting at the kitchen table, the wooden chair beneath her rocking slightly side to side. She was mending a skirt that she wore regularly to the tavern when he walked in, a slight frown on his face. "Didn't catch anything today?" she asked sardonically, still sewing. She only had a few hours before her shift, and the hole in this skirt was pretty large.

"Actually, I did," he said, and Krista looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Where's the fish, then?" she asked. "Did you clean it and gut it already?"

Matthew hesitated. "No, I released it back into the sea. He... I mean, it said it was under an enchantment."

Krista held the needle in her left hand, pausing between her stitches. "The fish that you caught said it was under an enchantment," she said slowly. Rolling her eyes, she continued sewing. "That's really not amusing, Mattie."

"No, I'm serious!" Matthew said. "The fish said he was an Egyptian prince who was cursed nearly two thousand years ago, and the witch turned him into a fish. He offered to grant me a wish, but I told him 'no, thank you, kind fish sir,' and I released him. He was ever so grateful."

Slamming her sewing on the table, Krista glared at her husband. "Matthew, that's enough! Day in and day out for the last four months, I have cooked and cleaned and worked my arse off so that you can live your dream as a fisherman-something you do horribly by the way-and I have kept my mouth shut. Every night, drunk men flirt with me and try to snog me, but I figure it's all worth it because one day my husband and I will be happy in a brilliant little seaside cottage. But, no, you have to shove all my work in my face with these barmy lies, telling me about this magic fish who will grant us a wish.

"You can tell this blasted fish," she said, now stabbing the needle through the skirt, "that I want to live in a _nice_ little cottage with a functional roof, an indoor bathroom, and oh, wait, a garden that actually grows vegetables! Can you do that one little thing, Matthew? Or should I take care of that as well, since I do everything _else_ around here?"

Matthew was silent, and Krista could see, from her spot at the table, that his hands-in fists at his sides-were white and trembling. "As you wish," he spat, and he left their little shack, slamming the door behind him.

OOO

When Krista returned home from work that night, she thought she must have made a wrong turn somewhere. In front of her, where her pathetic, falling-apart shack should have been, stood a sturdy cottage with a little stoop and even a porch light. Gripping her keys tightly (she had mace on the ring, after all), Krista walked up the steps to the little stoop and knocked on the door. After a moment, the door opened and Matthew stood there in his pajamas, staring at her.

"Well, are you going to come in or not?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes. "It's well after two, you know." He yawned and stretched up. Krista rolled her eyes.

"This isn't our house, so I don't know what you're doing in here," she said. "Grab your clothes and let's go."

"What?" Matthew looked truly confused. "Of course it's our house. I talked to the fish, and he gave us a cottage."

"This is mad," Krista said. "I must be dreaming."

"Well, if you are," he said with another yawn, "so am I." And without another word, he walked back into the house, presumably to the bedroom, leaving Krista to stare from the porch through the open doorway.

After another moment, tiredness overcame her, and despite her wariness and her confusion, Krista stepped into the strange home, closed the door-and in the darkness, she found the bedroom and joined her husband in a very comfortable, very luxurious bed. She'd barely kicked off her heels and tossed her black mini-skirt on the floor before she fell asleep, dreaming of talking fish wearing crowns and holding court.

OOO

The next morning, Krista awoke to the sensation of bright sunlight. Groaning, she turned over in the bed and clamped her eyes shut, covering them with the covers. Still, after a few minutes, she realized that sleep would only continue to evade her, so with a sigh (and another groan), she pushed back the covers, pulled herself out of bed and stretched. What she saw when she opened her eyes, caused Krista to freeze.

"What in the bloody hell?" she breathed.

The bedroom in which she was sitting was not the one that she'd slept in the past few months. Instead of the lumpy, full-sized bed with a stained quilt, she sat on a lush king-sized bed with a thick, beige duvet. The bedstead was made of iron, and there was room on either side of the bed as though the room had expanded. The walls were a soft beige as well, and they looked smooth and even, no trace of any peeling. It was all a mirage, Krista decided, but she stood up and padded out of the bedroom into the kitchen.

It was the kitchen of her dreams. Expansive granite countertops were against the walls on two sides, and there was even an island. A large bay window was on the east wall, and gentle white light flowed through it, making a puddle on beautiful, varnished, not-rotting hardwood floors. She was dreaming. She had to be.

Once she was able to close her mouth and stop staring, Krista went through the rest of the house. There was a small master bathroom with a toilet, glass shower, and double sinks; a quaint porch on the back of the house with a loveseat and French doors leading out to the garden; a small second bedroom with a queen-sized bed, television, and attached half-bath. All of it was beautiful. Just so beautiful.

But as Krista was searching through the house, she saw no trace of Matthew-not even a note explaining that he'd left the house early to go fishing. With a sigh, Krista returned to the master bedroom, made the bed, and then heading once more to the kitchen, began preparing breakfast for one.

OOO

The days passed, and though Krista and Matthew were living in a new, more beautiful house, not much had changed. Matthew rarely caught a fish for them to eat or sell, and Krista left the house at seven every night except Mondays for her six-hour shift. The tension in the house was so thick that they hardly talked, and during the day, Krista spent all her time planting and pruning and weeding to avoid the emptiness of the house.

The garden was finally starting to produce results. Although the tomato plants and the bell peppers were still small, the soybeans were growing well. It was mid-May now, and Krista enjoyed being in the garden. She even began planting flowers and trees, edging the house with beautiful landscaping. Matthew never said a word about it, but sometimes she'd see him lingering outside the house, taking in the fragrant roses and the dainty lilies, or pinching a green tomato off the vine and popping it into his mouth. She always replaced the sheer curtain and resumed her sewing before he stepped into the house, though. She knew if he suspected she had been spying on him, he would kick off his boots, turn on the television, and sleep in the guest room. After he grumbled about a lack of privacy, that is.

One night, while they were eating dinner, the silence suddenly became too much for Krista, and she threw down her fork and slammed her fist against the table.

"I can't stand this anymore, Matthew. We're _married_, for the love of the Queen. Why don't we talk anymore? And heaven forbid we'd sleep in the same bed for more than a couple nights a week. And _bloody hell_, I can't remember the last time we..." Krista trailed off, looking at her husband. He was looking back at her, his eyes tired.

"You know, this isn't exactly what I had in mind, either," Matthew said, glancing back at his food again. He began sawing through his chicken. "I thought I'd be a wealthy banker, living in the West End with a wife and kids, traveling throughout Europe on the weekends. But this is our life. Accept it."

"Accept it?" Krista thundered, grabbing her half-empty bowl and utensils. She dragged her dishes over to the sink and threw them in, not even wincing when the china broke. "Accept it? Matthew, this is our marriage. Our fucking marriage, and all you can say is _accept it?_ We were married four years ago-not twenty, not fifty-and you made a promise to love and cherish me for the rest of our lives, or have you already forgotten?"

He stared at her for a long moment, not answering. "I need some scotch," he said finally, standing up, but before he reached the pantry, Krista slapped him across the face, hard.

"You are such a wanker!" she screamed. "I asked you a simple question, and you can't even answer me without alcohol. Who are you?"

"Krista..."

"I have fought so hard for us! I have worked two jobs for the last couple years, and I even moved out here-I left my two perfectly good jobs-just for you. I thought-"

"What, that I'd be grateful?" Matthew asked, an angry undertone in his voice. "Well, I would be, if you would stop shoving my failures in my face! Every time I don't bring a fish home, you roll your eyes to the ceiling, and I can see what you're thinking: 'This is what I moved out here for? To be the wife of a fisher who can't even provide for us?' And the fact that you're able to get a job, that you're the one bringing home money... well, it makes me feel like shit."

"Oh, get your head out of your arse, Matthew, and let go of your bloody pride. Just because you graduated from Oxford-"

"Graduated at the _top of my class_ at Oxford-"

"-doesn't give you any more right to earn a living than it does me. And if you can't work a _normal job_, then I have to!"

"_See?_ This is exactly the kind of thing that I mean! You only loved me because I was successful, because I was going places. Now that I'm not, you resent me."

"I do. I admit that. But you know _why_ I resent you?" she spat."Because you're my husband and rather than putting work into this marriage, you're letting it crumble, not bothering to pick up the shards and fit them back together again.

She slapped him across the face, harder than the first time. "That's for being a complete wanker to your wife!" Then a third time, even harder. "And _that's_ for kissing me and not having the bloody balls to confront me about it the next day!" she screeched, storming to the bedroom and slamming the door behind her. Even when she heard splintering wood shouted obscenities, Krista stayed in the room with the door locked.

Late that night, and for the third time that week, Krista laid in bed alone and sobbed herself to sleep.


End file.
